Feet of Clay

‘Money is all you can think about when all you have is a price,’ said Carrot calmly, twisting the hammer out of his grip. ‘What do you think you’re doing, my friend?’

‘You can’t stop us!’ mumbled the man. ‘Everyone knows they’re not alive!’

‘But I can arrest you for wilful damage to property,’ said Carrot.

‘One of these killed that old priest!’

‘Sorry?’ said Carrot. ‘If it’s just a thing, how can it commit murder? A sword is a thing’ — he drew his own sword; it made an almost silken sound — ‘and of course you couldn’t possibly blame a sword if someone thrust it at you, sir.’

The man went cross-eyed as he tried to focus on the sword.

And, again, Angua felt that touch of bewilderment. Carrot wasn’t threatening the man. He wasn’t threatening the man. He was merely using the sword to demonstrate a … well, a point. And that was all. He’d be quite amazed to hear that not everyone would think of it like that.

Part of her said: Someone has to be very complex indeed to be as simple as Carrot.

The man swallowed.

‘Good point,’ he said.

‘Yeah, but … you can’t trust ’em,’ said one of the other hammer-bearers. ‘They sneak around and they never say anything. What are they up to, eh?’

He gave Dorfl a kick. The golem rocked slightly.

‘Well, now,’ said Carrot. ‘That is what I am finding out. In the meantime, I must ask you to go about your business …’

The third demolition man had only recently arrived in the city and had gone along with the idea because there are some people who do.

He raised his hammer defiantly and opened his mouth to say, ‘Oh, yeah?’ but stopped, because just by his ear he heard a growl. It was quite low and soft, but it had a complex little waveform which went straight down into a little knobbly bit in his spinal column where it pressed an ancient button marked Primal Terror.

He turned. An attractive watch woman behind him gave him a friendly smile. That was to say, her mouth turned up at the corners and all her teeth were visible.

He dropped the hammer on his foot.

‘Well done,’ said Carrot. ‘I’ve always said you can do more with a kind word and a smile.’

The crowd looked at him with the kind of expression people always wore when they looked at Carrot. It was the face-cracking realization that he really did believe what he was saying. The sheer enormity tended to leave people breathless.

They backed away and scurried out of the alley.

Carrot turned back to the golem, which had dropped to its knees and was trying to piece its slate together.

‘Come on, Mr Dorfl,’ he said. ‘We’ll walk with you the rest of the way.’

***

‘Are you mad?’ said Sock, trying to shut the door. ‘You think I want that back?’

‘He’s your property,’ said Carrot. ‘People were trying to smash him.’

‘You should’ve let them,’ said the butcher. ‘Haven’t you heard the stories? I’m not having one of those under my roof.’

He tried to slam the door again, but Carrot’s foot was in it.

‘Then I’m afraid you’re committing an offence,’ said Carrot. ‘To wit, littering.’

‘Oh, be serious!’

‘I always am,’ said Carrot.

‘He always is,’ said Angua.

Sock waved his hands frantically. ‘It can just go away. Shoo! I don’t want a killer working in my slaughterhouse! You have it, if you’re so keen!’

Carrot grabbed the door and forced it wide open. Sock took a step backwards.

‘Are you trying to bribe an officer of the law, Mr Sock?’

‘Are you insane?’

‘I am always sane,’ said Carrot.

‘He always is,’ sighed Angua.

‘Watchmen are not allowed to accept gifts,’ said Carrot. He looked around at Dorfl, who was standing forlornly in the street. ‘But I will buy him from you. For a fair price.’

Sock looked from Carrot to the golem and then back again. ‘Buy? For money?’

‘Yes.’

The butcher shrugged. When people were offering you money it was no time to debate their sanity. ‘Well, that’s different,’ he conceded. ‘It was worth $530 when I bought it, but of course it’s got additional skills now—’

Angua growled. It had been a trying evening and the smell of fresh meat was making her senses twang. ‘You were prepared to give it away a moment ago!’

‘Well, give, yes, but business is busi—’

‘I’ll pay you a dollar,’ said Carrot.

‘A dollar? That’s daylight robb—’

Angua’s hand shot out and grabbed his neck. She could feel the veins, smell his blood and fear … She tried to think of cabbages.

‘It’s night-time,’ she growled.

Like the man in the alley, Sock listened to the call of the wild. ‘A dollar,’ he croaked. ‘Right. A fair price. One dollar.’

Carrot produced one. And waved his notebook.

‘A receipt is very important,’ he said. ‘A proper legal transfer of ownership.’

‘Right. Right. Right. Happy to oblige.’

Sock glanced desperately at Angua. Somehow, her smile didn’t look right. He scribbled a few hasty lines.

Carrot looked over his shoulder.